Les Fleurs de Mort
by First Commander Miari
Summary: Livia heads House Ammoure, the current figurehead of the crumbling Soldats. Although the Soldats have been officially disbanded, she works to attain her own ideals. Yet the only thing standing in her way is Noir. Takes place 3 years after Birth.
1. La Famille D'Ammoure

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> On the serene Mediterranean coast of France, a girl lay on the beach, staring up at the clear blue sky. Honey-brown eyes half-closed, she had the appearance and grace of a slender feline, with her tall, lithe figure and long curls of brown hair. Her skin was copper from many days at her coastal home, a beautiful tone that no machine could reproduce. Yet behind this graceful feline, there was a serpent ready to strike.  
  
"Antonio," she called in a melodious French accent. "Come and bring me my bag." A similarly handsome-featured young man nodded to his sister and went to get her duffle bag. Really, he found it quite amusing watching his delicate sister. First she would act like an innocent beauty, but deep within was the girl that he had grown up with. Small and beautiful, with a fiery spirit. Daunting and proud at the same time, she was one of the most ambitious people that Antonio could have ever hoped to know. In some ways it was a rather attractive side, and in others, it was frightening. "Here you go," he said gently in his mellow tone of voice. She was the younger sister, and wasn't yet beyond panic or extreme exhilaration. If anything, she was enjoying life at its fullest at that very moment, and that was understandable.  
  
"Thank you," she said kindly, pulling out a towel and throwing it over herself like a blanket. "You and Father never seem to get cold, Antonio," she sighed. "I wish I never did. Whenever I feel cold, I also feel lonely, as if I'm back to the time when Mama died. You still remember her....don't you?" Antonio nodded, and laughed inwardly at the open innocence of his sister. Usually, she would find their mother's death to be a very sensitive subject, but that day had seemed unusual from the start.  
  
"Of course I do, but just because she's dead doesn't mean that we have to feel lonely without her. True, we should remember those who have passed away, but she wanted us to live happy lives. Then, when she died, she would know that her children were able to live life and be happy with it."  
  
Both fell into a reflective silence, allowing so many memories to return. On her last day among the living, their mother had been happy, almost too happy. Had she known that death was to befall her that night? Most people know when death is at their door, but she had taken Antonio aside that day, and her hand had been shaking. "Mon garcon," she had said affectionately, her voice steady despite her quavering hand. "You know that eventually I will pass on to Heaven, and so will your father. La famille d'Ammoure has countless enemies, however, enemies who wish to kill myself, your father, and eventually your sister. You have not been forgotten, mon Antonio, but I have simply hidden your existance from the crime lords who seek their revenge against us. Since you are to be the survivor of House Ammoure, protect your sister and be sure that she is able to live a happy life. Devote yourself to her service if you must, but just be sure that Livia's death is a natural one." When Antonio felt the quivering grip release his hand, he looked down into his mother's eyes and they exchanged une bise.  
  
Before the next morning, a gunshot had awakened him in the middle of the night. Darting out of bed and pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he sprinted furiously down the hall, and instinctively followed his ear to the source of the gunshot. After a little while he slowed down and found himself face to face with a pretty young blonde with icy blue eyes. Gun in hand she aimed to shoot at him, missed intentionally, and fled while Antonio was down trying to get rid of the burning pain in his eyes. Despite the pain, he blinked until his vision was clear and went dashing through the halls, trying to catch up to the mysterious young lady.  
  
By the time Antonio had reached the front door via a shortcut, the blonde was just coming up the main hall. "Wait," he said. "Who are you, and why are you here?" She stopped and smiled seductively.  
  
"I'm here because this is where I'm supposed to be," she said. "As for my name, that's none of your business. Keep this a secret and perhaps we won't meet again." With that, she lifted her gun slightly and smiled. "Au revoir." She hopped into a black sports car and drove off while Antonio sat there, puzzled as could be.  
  
At the time, Antonio had been attracted and had wanted to see her again. Yet the gun had made him think twice after he saw his mother, killed with one clean shot to the heart. Although she was mostly dead, he could have sworn that she had smiled at him as she drew her last breath. It was sad to see such a kind, gentle woman go because of some assassin scum. Why couldn't God have saved her when the killer was at her door? Sometimes, though, there is a grander scheme to that which God allows to happen. "Are you alright, Antonio?" his sister asked, worried.  
  
"Yes," he replied with a smile, "of course I am." Livia's mouth took on a firm stubborn set as she looked at him with those honey-brown eyes that glimmered in the sunlight.  
  
"You're hiding something," she said accusatorily.  
  
Antonio shook his head and sat down with one knee drawn up to his chest. There was too much time to contemplate things here. When in the cities, there were other people to socialize with, and few of them asked as many questions as Livia. Yet this place was familiar: the beautiful French coast, the serene sound of the waves, and their large beach house, all of them had become a part of Antonio himself. With a heavy sigh, he lay down in the sand and looked up at the clear blue sky, his mind soon drifting toward dreams of his mother.


	2. La Fille de Corsica

> Mireille smiled as she walked past the stands on the side of the street. For once, people had been accepting her, but it seemed like the thrill of life had passed. Of course, she had heard of stories similar to her own; where a person fought for a long time and couldn't find anything to do after the excitement had passed. Noir's trials seemed to have passed, and neither herself nor Kirika had heard of the Soldats lately. Eventually, though, the flower of death must relinquish its poison as it wilts. Not to say that Mireille's beauty was faltering, but she had lost her poisonous edge. Even Kirika seemed to have grown softer than before. After all, they hadn't even had cause to touch their weapons ever since Altena's death.  
  
"Bonjour, Mireille," a young man called, smiling at his friend. Mireille laughed softly and gave a relieved smile. "And hello to you too, Jean. It's been almost a month since I saw you last." The man laughed warmly and then looked at her with his dark, placid eyes. Black hair was combed down and cut short, and he had a tall, lithe build.  
  
"I've been working on the coast with a client of mine," he said cheerfully. " Simply a paper-pushing job, nothing to worry about." Mireille nodded and they went to the Cafe de Paris. Lately, as far as jobs went, Jean had been an assassin much like her former job, but after meeting her, he had gone to less dangerous work.  
  
Both of them sat down at a small outdoor table, and Mireille almost laughed as she watched the shadows, secretly thinking that someone might have been there. "So," she said, stirring her drink with the straw, "who is this client you've been working for?" Jean smiled at her curiosity and replied,  
  
"I've been working for the lovely Livia Ammoure, along with taking some easy drudge work from her brother, Antonio." A shocked look came over Mireille's face as she heard the name Ammoure.  
  
"They live on the Mediterranean coast, right?" she asked. "A secluded beach house?" Jean nodded and a serious look came into his usually placid eyes.  
  
"Yes, actually," he replied, a little surprised. "It even has a privately owned strip of beach." Mireille's eyes widened as she remembered the time when she had Aria Ammoure in her sleep, and the strange boy she had met afterward who didn't know that she was the killer. Otherwise, how could he have let her go?  
  
"I-I have to leave," she said, and sprinted away, not stopping until she reached her moped.  
  
Once on the vehicle, she left, and stopped at a foot bridge that overlooked the Seine. Standing in the middle, she looked out at the sparkling waters that had been such an important source of transportation. Perhaps that boy had been Antonio, but Livia Ammoure was an only child at the time when her mother had been murdered. "And so," she said to herself, "my black history has returned to haunt me." Somehow she doubted that Jean's job had been simply paper-pushing. The client had told her about La Famille D'Ammoure's manipulative history, and she knew that an Ammoure daughter wouldn't hire people to push papers. "Leave," the girl had hissed after running into Mireille in the halls. "You're not welcome here, you scum of an assassin!" In order to escape before the child became violent and woke the whole house up, Mireille had shot her in the side, the force enough to knock down such a delicate little girl.  
  
Mireille felt sorry for the child because of her early deprivations, but it was simply the fate of one caught up in the struggles for power. How could one feel that it was the child's fault though? Surely this Livia had been an innocent girl, at one point in time. "Every child goes through a period of innocence," Mireille said, "but the Flowers of Death must bloom eventually. C'est la vie de la monde."   
  
Suddenly, she heard a few footsteps behind her on the weathered stone of the bridge. Whipping around skittishly, she had her gun pointed at the darkly handsome face of a man around her age. "Who are you?" she asked coldly. He smiled, enhancing his features.  
  
"Mireille Bouquet, are you not?" After she nodded, he continued with the gun pointed at his head. "I am here to warn you, my beautiful Mireille. Would you not have it that you be excused from your compensation?"  
  
"Who the hell are you?" she asked, her voice a frigid blizzard.  
  
"My name is Antonio Ammoure. I remember that you were the assassin who killed my mother. Yet I would much rather have you as an ally than watch la seconde fleur de mort vanish from this world. Already the one you called Chloe has been eliminated from the running. If the Yuumura girl dies, then it will be yourself and my sister as the two rulers of the property of House Ammoure. Myself, I will willingly bow down and serve the flower that came to me that day." Mireille held her gun pointed at him and replied icily,  
  
"My place is not there, you idiot! I can never trust your family, not after what I did.to your mother. Leave before I'm forced to kill you!"  
  
Antonio took a step backward and then said in his most suave voice, "Farewell, Mireille. We shall meet again."   
  
"Not quite," she said angrily, pulling the trigger. Birds took wing when they heard the gunshot. "I don't need your forgiveness," she told the corpse as she walked away, "because I know that you're still alive."
> 
> * * *
> 
> I know that some people may be slightly confused by the French words, but it would only make sense, since the whole story is set in France. For all of you who do not have a French-English dictionary, you may e-mail me with the French word/phrase, and I will translate it for you.
> 
> Rielle


	3. Amis

> Antonio awakened in the hospital with a bandage wrapped around his middle. Dark, placid eyes stared down at him from above, stopping the seemingly glaring light from hitting his own eyes. "What are you doing here, Mieuret?" he asked, still a little dazed from the shot. "I thought you were dead. Why come back for me anyway?" Mieuret smirked, his face covered in shadow now.  
  
"It's my duty, remember, mon ami?" he replied. "After all, you already saved me from that bitch once." As Mieuret revealed his face, Antonio smiled in recognition of an old friend.  
  
"She took me and played me until I was on the ground-all in five minutes. How can you get along with someone like that?" Mieuret smirked and shook his head, offering a hand.  
  
"Now that she's quit killing people, Mireille's willing to make up a little time with old friends," he said, helping Antonio to sit up.  
  
It was amazing how fast that young woman had grown up and become so cold. When he had first met her, she was a girl in a woman's body, still struggling to find her way. But now he had no chance of breaking through that icy barrier that she seemed to have built around herself. "Les fleurs de mort will survive through the winter and defend the ideals of la famille d'Ammoure," he said to himself, reciting that which he had been taught. "And then the Chosen will reveal himself." Mieuret smiled at his old friend's musings, thinking it to be merely a side effect caused by the force of the bullet.  
  
"When will I be out of the hospital?" Antonio asked foggily. Images were flashing before him:his mother lying dead in her bed, her husband trying to bring her back by pressing a blanket against her to stop the flow of the blood, Mireille's young face as she coldly threatened to return if he let anyone know that he had seen her. Then he saw the gun turn toward his leg and shoot at least two bullets in deep. So she hadn't wanted to kill him, had she? Though he called himself a madman for it, Antonio knew deep within that he still admired Mireille's beauty and skill. After all, she had been Altena's Daughter of Corsica before she turned on the Soldats, which were her own point of origin.  
  
Mieuret's figure had taken on the form of a hunter at the ready now, as opposed to the time when they were younger, and he was a slightly heavy-set man who seemed above even touching a weapon. "So you are going to carry out your assigned task?" Antonio asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Even though I would prefer that we lie low for a while longer, Livia wishes it done."  
  
"We will first see if the target can be used instead of killed," Mieuret replied with a dangerous smile. "After all, we are dealing with a very dangerous person, or so my sources of information say." Antonio nodded and brushed a hand through his hair nervously. If this person was so dangerous, then maybe one of Mieuret's skilled men should go, and not Mieuret himself. Antonio refused to let an outsider get caught up in the power struggles of la famille d'Ammoure. It had happened once before and he refused to let it happen again.  
  
Pierre LaMont had been one of Antonio's best friends, but then he took out an important member of the Soldats, and everything collapsed. Eventually, Chloe had killed him in the dead of night, leaving his wife destitute and depressed. That night, the wife, Monique, had been out with two of her friends. She came home to find her husband dead in his bed, killed with a large knife. It was best that nobody else was killed because Antonio was unable to make the kill himself. "Just be quick and try not to sggravate our situation," Antonio said gravely. "I'll be on my feet as soon as I can, so then I'll be able to help." Mieuret nodded and then looked up from his seat at the open door.  
  
There was Livia, her girlish face strained with worry. "Antonio, what happened?" she asked, more worried than anything. "How did you end up getting shot like that?" He looked upward, meeting those liquid eyes that gazed at him affectionately.  
  
"I guess I said something to aggravate her. After I made my proposal, she shot me and that was that." Livia shook her head and then stood erect.   
  
"Mieuret," she said firmly. "Go to your suite and prepare to carry out your task. Tonight you strike, before this goes farther than it has to." Antonio was about to protest, but he laid back his head submissively, looking forward to the time when he could sleep.  
  
"Have you ever thought that maybe we could have stopped Pierre from doing what he did?" Livia asked, playing with a lock of dark hair that had fallen from her ponytail. "He was a good friend to both of us, but he sacrificed more than we ever will be able to. You know, Monique said that when she found Pierre's body, he was smiling."  
  
"I heard," Antonio nodded, "and sadly enough, it is our destiny as part of House Ammoure to do these things. That is why the ruling women of House Ammoure are known as les Fleurs de Mort, the Flowers of Death, because that is what they rule. Yet unlike Altena's Noir, they are not harnessed by any priestess. Thus, they are free to follow whatever cause they wish to pursue." He had been taught about that ever since the day of Livia's birth, and had treasured and hated that knowledge ever since.


	4. Thoughts and Memories

Mireille came back to her Parisian apartment and laid her purse on the pool table. Nobody else was home, so Kirika must have gone out again. As of late, she had taken to being alone. Maybe Chloe's death was hitting harder than before, but why now, three years after their proclamation as Noir? With a short, somewhat forced laugh, she sat down for lunch alone. Les fleurs de mort was a term that referred to female assassins in general, but Antonio had talked about it like Chloe had talked about Noir: fervently and relentlessly. And why had Jean come back from a job with the powerful Ammoure family simply to see her?  
  
Playing absently with her food, she grimaced and looked out the window, where birds flew around and then left to find a better place to perch. "It's been lonely around here, hasn't it?" called a familiar voice. She turned around to see Jean standing in the doorway.   
  
"What is it that you did while you were at the Ammoure estate?" Mireille asked coolly, fingering the gun underneath the table. "Somehow, it just seems like you did more than push papers." He quirked an eyebrow at her and nodded slowly, as if he were confused. Mireille looked at him seriously, her eyes holding the frigid look of a killer.  
  
"I did more than that, Mireille," he admitted, "but none of what I was hired to do involves you.Why would anyone dare to toy with Noir anyway?" Mireille shook her head at his ignorance and tightened her grip on the handgun's handle. Really, she was fairly sure that he was refusing to tell the whole truth.  
  
"Tell me the essence of the assignment," she demanded. Anger was building within her, and it was at the point where she refused to go without the answers that she wanted.  
  
"Of course, mon cheri Mireille," Jean replied, his classy manners showing through. "It was an assassination mission." Mireille nodded in relief. As far as she could tell, Jean was telling the truth. At least his time with "the lovely Livia Ammoure" hadn't weakened their relationship.   
  
"I thought that you quit doing assassinations," she said. "Not that I truly believed that I was your cause, but you seemed to lose that quality, and now it seems so strange that you're doing assassinations again." Unshed tears burned her eyes as she looked at him, sturdily built and lithe as a cat. Of course he was built for a job that required stealth and strength. Yet his mannerisms seemed so gentle, as if he had never felt the pain of loss.   
  
"They hired me because of my cridentials as an assassin, Mireille. That's why I was even considered for the job." He looked at Mireille pleadingly, and she felt so guilty for accusing him of running afoul. She couldn't always be the cold, heartless Noir after all.  
  
"I'm sorry, Jean," Mireille said apologetically. "It was rude of me to accuse you of even attempting to do such things. It's just..." Jean looked a little worried when she trailed off and bowed her head, her eyes closed. "I miss the old days...like a soldier off of the battlefield." He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.   
  
"Je sais, Mireille," he replied softly, "je sais."  
  
"Merci," she sighed absently. "Merci beaucoup, Jean." They moved over to the small table by the window, where both gazed out at the swiftly setting sun, recalling their days together. They had met so long ago, and now it seemed like both could begin to enjoy a life together.   
  
"You always seemed so radiant...back then," Jean said soothingly, "and it doesn't suit you to be so sad." He directed her attention to the beautiful red orb that was the sun. "See that?" he asked. When Mireille nodded, he continued, "Even though that source of light is leaving us for a short while, it will always be there. Remember that Mireille, remember that when one source of hope and survival fades, another will always come into view....if you search hard enough."  
  
Mireille nodded again in reply and then fell silent. Her mind held onto that source of hope, but deep within, in the bottom of her heart, she didn't know what to do with herself. "Why can't I believe what you say?" she asked herself, and gazed into the darkening region of the sky. "Why can't I just carry on?" Jean smiled and stroked her back. Unrest failed to take him over, but Mireille's face was sad and rueful as she stared absently into the distance. Although she felt unsure at that moment, she was also glad that there was someone there to talk to...someone who just listened and accepted. "Merci," she muttered faintly. "Merci, Jean."  
  
Finally, he got up to leave. "Good luck with your work," she said. "Au revoir, mon ami."  
  
"And farewell to you too, Mireille," Jean replied, then walked away. Mireille smiled and got dressed for bed, watching the rising moon one last time as she slowly drifted away to sleep, not knowing when or where she would find her light of hope. 


	5. Froid ou Chaud?

Mieuret shuffled through the maps one last time and then grinned. "Nervous?" Jacques asked with a haughty air. Unlike his father, Pierre, Jacques LaMont was far from humble, and he couldn't be trusted too far. The only reason that he was even there was his skill as an assassin. Only a handful were better at it than him, and Mieuret was one of them.

"Of course," he replied quietly, "but how else can I earn my paycheck?" Folding up the floor plans, he discreetly tucked a slip of paper in his pocket. "Jacques, just get the target while I work the rest of the plan." Both men walked out into the sitting room and found Livia sitting in a chair, awaiting their arrival.

"I see that you both are ready," she said, not even bothering to turn and face them. "If you have nothing more to say, then I suggest that you leave. Before long, they'll be gone." Livia's face twisted in a wry smile as she listened to the fading sound of their footsteps. Now all had come together, and there was but one obstacle remaining. Yuumura Kirika could not be allowed to live, lest the entire plan collapse. Suddenly, she heard a soft thud and stood up to see who it was.

There stood a short young woman, her dark red hair hanging down her back in a long, thin braid. "What do you want?" Livia asked, looking at the thin sword that rested in the other woman's hand.

"Blood," she said, raising the dagger in one fluid motion, her entire figure coiled like a viper ready to strike. "I will not allow you to kill her, as your men know."

"But how?" Livia's eyes were wide with astonishment. The last time anyone had penetrated the defenses of House Ammoure had been the day of her mother's death. "How can it be?" The girl sprang forward and recovered with a somersault after Livia ducked and ran for the door. "You can't be human," she whispered, and hid around the corner.

Soon enough she heard footsteps, and took off again, pushing aside anyone who got in her way. "You can't escape the heart of death!" the girl shouted, and kept on running. Livia refused to stop before she came to the back door, where Mieuret and Jacques were talking as if nothing was happening. When they noticed the girl approaching, Jack took out his gun and started firing blindly. She smiled as she dodged the haphazard shots and came in for the kill, thrusting the sword through his chest. Mieuret darted out the door and ran out to his car, flooring the gas pedal. Even if she was fast on her feet, that girl couldn't catch a car. He would leave for Paris and then go to Switzerland to save his money. "See you and yours later, bitch," he said with a smirk as he left the Ammoure estate and left those high-strung idiots to get themselves killed.

Livia slide-tackled the other woman, and she found herself having to add an extra kick to avoid impaling herself upon the sword. Slash, thrust, duck, over again. It was difficult even to see the pattern with her opponent moving so fast. 'I can't die here,' she told herself angrily. 'Otherwise I won't be able to take what's mine.' Another bodyguard stepped forward and fired about three shots, all of which missed. "You can only avoid it for so long," the girl said, her eyes narrowing. "Death always takes its prey when the time comes, Livia Ammoure. Accept it, and maybe it won't be so painful." With a smile she took off and ran until there was no more running to be done. The other girl was gone and she had dropped her sword. Picking it up, Livia inspected the blade and saw, engraved on the hilt, the ancient likeness of Noir. Her eyes widened at the sight of such a thing. It could only mean that....

She cast the blade aside and looked around. Dead bodyguards lay in almost every room, and it sickened her even to look at them. "Mieuret?" she called hoarsely. "Mieuret?" She thought of the guards who were everywhere, and linked it to the night of her mother's death, when the silence had seemed deadly and eerie, the chill of it creeping up her spine. Shivering, she walked into her bedroom and gazed at her mother, the image of a loving parent. Livia's own honey-brown eyes stared at her seriously, and she saw her own dark hair on that older, more mature woman. "They died because of me, and they died fruitlessly," she told herself. "I can't escape death and they know it."

Livia left the picture where she had found it and left in her small, dark red sports car. Antonio would find her soon enough, but she didn't want the strange girl finding her again. "I can't stay," she told herself. "There's too much here...too many memories, too many sorrows, and too many deaths to even count them. All I know is that their lives were wasted in my service." She kept on driving toward Paris, where Antonio was still hospitalized. Mieuret was probably gone already, leaving her for a personal life. Subtle rage ebbed at her, though. So many people had betrayed her without hesitation. How could she trust anyone after this?

Mieuret stopped in Paris, at the apartment building and looked up at the room. No lights were on, so it would probably be easy enough. Stepping out of the car almost soundlessly, he walked in and looked at the directory. "Second floor," he muttered to himself. "Not too bad." With that, he dashed upstairs and picked the lock on the door and opened it, flinching when the hinges creaked. Thankfully, nobody stirred. As he approached the bed in the corner, Mieuret smirked while he aimed his gun. "Au revoir," he whispered, just before he heard the rustling of sheets.

"Bonjour a toi aussi, mon ami," said a voice from behind. Mieuret whipped around to see Mireille with her own gun raised.

"I always knew you were cold on the inside, Mireille," he said with a dry laugh. "Perhaps you shouldn't make so many allies." Mireille pulled the trigger without hesitation, but Mieuret dodged.

"Yes, Jean," she said. "I knew about this. Last night a client told me to get both Jacques LaMont and Jean Mieuret. This was too easy." Before she could finally kill him, Mireille had to duck to avoid a dagger. When she turned around, there was a redhead girl there, her face masked in shadows.

Jean dashed to the window and jumped down, rolling to save himself. Mireille, however, stood there waiting for the next move to be made. The redhead lunged and then dodged Mireille's bullet with a certain grace that she had only seen in Chloe and Kirika. Mireille moved to the side to dodge the dagger and fired another shot, hitting the girl's right arm. "You bitch," she said. "What do you want from me?" She didn't get an answer, just a fist that flew by her face, since the girl's fighting arm was injured.

"We'll continue this later, the girl said all of a sudden, hearing the doorbell ring. She slipped out through the window and Mireille heard a soft thud when she landed.

A neighbor stood in the open doorway, looking at the bulletholes in the furniture and the splintered part of the pool table. "What happened here?" he asked, concerned. "I heard shouting and some other noises, and-" Mireille closed the door, which was still intact. It was late, she was tired, and she didn't want to be bothered by neighbors. After she made sure that the door was locked and the window was shut, she crawled back into bed, dreaming of her days as a little girl.


	6. Ne Pas D'Amour

Maiah walked down the streets that were near the Bouquet residence, waiting for Mieuret to show his face. Her brilliantly blonde hair had one crimson streak in the front, and she wore dark purple clothes. Most people would have called her strange for the way she dressed, but she believed in being unique. Finally, she saw Mieuret turn the corner and gave him a dark look. Originally, she had been ready to marry him, but then Mireille Bouquet had come into the picture. Catty as it might have sounded, she was genuinely angry at the Bouquet woman and at Jean for betraying her.

"You're late," she said venomously, looking at the watch on her wrist for emphasis. If he was going to go running off with that blonde, then she refused to let him off easy. "And why are you even bothering tying yourself to her when she's just going to become Livia's little puppet? It's no use." Mieuret smiled at her comfortingly and her unpredictable anger subsided. Even though she was mad at Jean, she still had a soft spot for him in the depths of her heart.

"That's exactly the reason, Maiah," he replied in that irritatingly calm way. "Mireille has enough trouble right now figuring out what to do with herself, and she might accept Livia's service as something to fill time because it involves more action than what she's doing now. Would you want to see a brilliant mind and a skilled person go to whittle away her life working under someone else's rules?" Maiah smirked and refrained from speaking her mind. If it had been anyone but Mireille Bouquet, she would have agreed with Jean.

"Let's get a little farther away from this place before we begin," she said, pointing to a small cafe just a little ways down the street. "There are too many distractions around here." Like that witch's apartment, she thought to herself angrily. All he ever thinks about is her, and she's the only person he cares about anymore. Where had that hard-core assassin from two years ago gone to? Now he was always reflective, always kinder and more caring than before. In truth, Maiah kind of liked the new Jean, but she missed the days when she was the object of his affections, instead of that annoying blonde.

"Alright," he said, putting a file full of papers underneath his arm as inconspicuously as possible. "Really, Maiah, you don't have to be jealous of myself and Mireille. We've only known each other for a little less than a year, and nobody knows where our relationship could go. It's just that she needs my help at this time, and afterwards, we can pick up where we left off. Please understand, Maiah. You know that I won't abandon you."

Both were silent as they walked over to the cafe, their footsteps falling heavily. Maiah had little time to dwell on what Jean had just said, but it did give her some slight reassurance. After all, their relationship had been going strong for more than a year and a half. What could Mireille Bouquet do to shattter a bond like that? Soon enough they reached the cafe, and Maiah's face turned red with anger as she spotted that witch at one of the central tables, with her annoyingly quiet friend, Yuumura Kirika. "This will be fine, won't it Maiah?" She snapped back to reality and saw Jean leaning toward her, obviously having just addressed the question.

"Of course," she replied irritably. "Why not?" For a moment, Maiah could have sworn that she saw Mireille shift her eyes their way, but she dismissed it as a product of her self-admitted jealousy.

"Now," Maiah said quietly, "Why did you want to see me, Jean?" Jean looked around discreetly, noticed Mireille, and lowered his voice to a softspoken tone.

"You are going to help me stop Livia and Antonio from getting at Mireille. No matter what you may think about this, I think that it would be best for you if you do this and get a little fun in. What do you say?"

"Of course, mon copain. It will be a delight to finally have something to do after all these years. I was hoping that I'd rediscover your real self, Jean, the one I fell in love with." A satisfied smile spread across his face, even bringing a mischievous gleam into his usually placid eyes.

"I'll remember that," he said softly, touching the hand that Maiah had stretched out on the table. Looking behind him, he noticed a younger man behind him, walking as if he had been severely inured. "Just a moment," he said, going to see who it was.

Surprise and suppressed horror came over Jean's face as he saw Jacques, standing there against the wall. "Bonjour," said Jean, his voice steadily calm. "What happened to you?"

"The wealth of Livia's family just so happened to work to my advantage. With the advanced medical technology that is available only to those who pay the price, she managed to bring me back to this state. There's still some pain, but it's not as bad as when I got this wound. Where'd you run off to, Mieuret, back to your little girlfriend?" Jean frowned dangerously and looked over at Mireille. "So," Jacques continued, "You were in it to betray us all along, weren't you Jean?"

"Enough!" Jean shouted furiously, forgetting entirely about the crowd around him. "You and Livia's kind are all scum, nothing for me to worry myself about. Besides, this way I'm not some slavish dog whose only purpose is to wait for his master's next order! Can you roll over, Jacques, can you play dead? I met your father, and at least he had some reason for meddling in the affairs of La Famille D'Ammoure! He would be disgusted with how you are acting today! Pierre LaMont never subjected himself to this! You have become little more than a worthless cur! Forget whatever partnership we had, Jacques. I refuse to side with someone as senseless as you!"

Maiah watched in horror as Jean broke and threw a punch at the smaller, wiry young man. She also watched as the fist's target doubled over in what looked like excruciating pain. With every blow that Jean dealt, Maiah flinched, and looked at Mireille, whose eyes were wide with horror. Those two who called themselves Noir, the heart of death, stood from their table and walked away silently. Yet Maiah could have sworn that she saw a few tears fall from Mirille's eyes, just as they were falling from her own. Getting up and dashing over to Jean, she grabbed his arm as he prepared to throw another punch at the now obviously wounded young man. "Haven't you caused him enough pain?" she demanded fiercely. "Jean, you're only sinking to his level with whatever stupid grudge you have against him. Can't you see that he's injured, struggling even to stand up?" Jean turned on her furiously, and shoved her hand off of his arm, causing her to stumble and fall on the ground.

"Why?" she asked feebly, struggling to overcome the pain that had risen in her head. "Why are you doing this Jean? Is your bloodlust so great that you have to take a wounded man's life?"

Suddenly, Jean stopped in the middle of his next attack. The police were already there, and he didn't want to be seen as some brawler off the streets. Rising to his feet in one lithe motion, he smiled at Maiah one last time, but she turned her head away from him. Mireille was standing next to one of the policemen, sobbing dejectedly as she told the story of how Jean had just gone over and abruptly started the brawl after shouting for a couple minutes. "Mireille," he said faintly, wishing he could explain to her for one last minute before they took him away, just to tell her why, although he couldn't blame her for calling the authorities. "Mireille, please, listen..." But she was already leaving him alone, walking back to her home with the Yuumura girl by her side. Those two were inseperable, but only he could do the healing that it would take to remold his relationship with Mireille, and with Maiah. Yet he could do nothing if he ended up going to prison without getting a chance to talk to her.

Mireille reached her apartment and ran in, flopping down on her bed. She still couldn't believe that Jean, gentle and placid Jean would do something like that to an injured man. Maybe he wasn't the right match for her. First he had tried to assassinate her, but she had known that he had been forced to do that. But why would he attack a defenseless young man, and one who was injured at that? Fresh tears began to swell in her eyes and she let them fall just this once. Who was around to see but Kirika? Now there was no Jean to confide in, to have mundane but enjoyable conversations with. What would she do with herself now?

"Are you alright, Mireille?" Kirika asked softly, sitting down next to her friend silently, avoiding physical contact. Things had gone well for the most part, but there was one thing that Kirika did not understand. If Mireille loved that man, or thought of him as a friend, why had she betrayed him? Was there something that had gone on between them, a constant edge to their relationship? "Why?" she asked. "What was the purpose?" When Mireille didn't answer, Kirika laughed one of her haunting laughs as she noticed that her friend had fallen asleep. All these years and Mireille still had surprises for her, surprises waiting at every corner of life, every milestone that they came to, her friend showed a different side, or perhaps a different facade. Either way, Kirika knew that she would have to be there for Mireille, to see to it that both of them made it through that lifetime without any regrets about their friendship.


	7. Jailbreak

Jean looked out of the tiny window in his prison cell, wishing that he could have had just one chance to explain to Mireille before she had called the cops on him, or to Maiah before she had walked away, disgusted. Jacques had always angered him with that haughty attitude, and it hadn't helped that Maiah had been in a catty mood the rest of the day. Nobody seemed to care to listen anymore since they had all lost their heads. "Why the hell does she refuse to let me explain?" he demanded angrily, ignoring shouts from the other inmates. "Damn you, Mireille, and you too Maiah! Just a couple of rich girls that caught me off guard the first time around."

Yet there was no more time for contemplation, as he saw Antonio rounding the corner, dressed in his business suit. Why would he be near the jail cells at this ungodly hour? It was the middle of the night and Jean had only been awake because of fear and guilt combined. Otherwise, nobody would have any reason to be in a prison at this time of night, where all the inmates were brutally violent. A click sounded almost too loudly, and Antonio's face smirked at him from the shadowy outside. It had been a week since his arrest, and he had somebody who was willing to bail him out despite what he did to Jacques? Taking his friend's outstretched hand, Jean Mieuret stumbled forward, catching himself so that he didn't fall and make too much noise. "Thanks," he said under his breath. "Guess we're even now." Antonio helped him up and handed him a small shotgun before both went dashing down the dark halls of a French prison, ignoring the disturbing sounds about them.

Suddenly, Jean pulled his friend aside and pressed his own body flat against the wall, keeping his breathing slow and steady. "Watch my back," he whispered to Antonio, and turned the corner, holding up his weapon. A cop stood there, barely able to scream before a bullet went straight through his head. "Darn," Jean muttered, and went on until he hit the next corner. There he drew a silent breath and waited, eyes closed. After a couple seconds, he heard someone, and peeked out from behind his cover to take a shot. It whizzed by the target and hit the wall with a loud clink. Before he could get in another shot, he ducked to avoid a large metal object that was being swung at his head and a bullet aiming for the same target. Unfortunately for the metal object's wielder, the bullet met his head instead.

Jean rolled across the ground to avoid a third shot and finally nailed the target. He kept on running, trying not to think about what might be behind him. For a couple seconds he waited, until he heard Antonio calling to him so he wouldn't shoot. Turning around, he saw his friend, but they weren't in the clear yet. Most likely, the younger man had his car parked in the visitors' lot. Noisy shouts came from the inmates as they saw their guards fall, but no keys being produced. All of them were scum, people who Jean had no time to rescue. When he came to the office, Antonio smirked as he fired the shot that killed the prisonguard who was on duty.

Now they just had to make it out to the lot without getting noticed and they were home free. Jean hoped and prayed that no one would be waiting for them there, but he found Maiah standing there impatiently, as if she was helping but didn't want to admit it. "I'll take him," she said, running over to her black Renault. "You can't afford to accomodate someone else, Antonio." Jean followed his girlfriend into the car, and with the sound of burning rubber, they were leaving the prison yard to go to Maiah's apartment.

"How does it feel?" she asked, once they were out on the open road. "Being in prison, I mean."

"Because of you and Mireille, it made me feel guilty," Jean said, a little jovial at his close escape. On the way out, a couple shots had grazed him, and one bullet was stuck in his side, right below his ribs. "The inmates aren't the greatest of company, either." Maiah allowed him a little laugh, but it sounded sort of dry, as if she were still mad at him about something. "What is it?" he asked, wondering why she was helping him if she was still angry.

"You could've ended up leaving me alone," she said angrily, "and all because you decide that you're going to take out a little anger on an injured man. Never scare me like that again Jean, got it? I didn't appreciate the fact that you got yourself arrested either. I thought you had a little more common sense than that!" Jean's eyes sank to the floor with her cutting words and he did feel guilty, behaving like that, and then doing it to a man who was injured, even if it was Jacques.

"I thought you were going to kill me when I saw the look on your face, Maiah, but I was about to kill myself because of that look. You can't even imagine how guilty you made me feel. Everything collapsed when I realized that the police were there. I know I got carried away, but you didn't even give me a chance to explain." Maiah sighed and focused her eyes on the road intently, pulling up her short midriff top.

"Don't even try and make me feel sorry for you Jean, because it's not going to work," she said absently. "It just makes you look like more of an ass." He knew it, and was ashamed for it, but Maiah never let anyone off easy, especially when she was stressed out. Then she would cut you down and hang you out to dry. Jean sighed and looked out the window. They were coming back into Paris, and he saw the beautiful Eiffel Tower, and the Seine, one of the main rivers in France. The car stopped at a small apartment building and he got out, wondering if Maiah still trusted him enough to let him in.

"Come on," she said irritably, "I have to drop off the rent by eleven AM tomorrow, and the land-lady'll be ticked if I sleep too late to get it in on time." With a short nod, Jean followed her inside and they both fell asleep in their clothes on the big queen bed.


	8. Murderer's Redemption

Livia looked outside and then pressed her back to the wall, eventually sinking down to the floor. A week ago, she had been the powerful leader of House Ammoure, and now she was jumping at shadows. Then again, who knew when that strange girl could have attacked again. A tear ran down her cheek, a helpless, lonely tear. If Antonio were here, then it might have been a little better, but she couldn't run the risk of letting anyone know where she was hiding. "Antonio," she whispered between sobs. "Why couldn't you just be there when she attacked? Why did you have to leave me?" Although she could hear the answer being whispered on the wind, she would rather that he were there to embrace her and tell her that everything would be all right. But he wasn't, and her tears fell on the stone floor of the castle with no hand to wipe them away.

"Where is Jacques?" she wondered to herself. "Why hasn't he returned yet?" She could guess at what had happened to Jacques too, unfortunately. Being the annoying scamp that he was, he had probably gone off and irritated Mieuret. Jean Mieuret hated Jacques though, and she knew it. Only a parent could forgive a child for behaving like Jacques did, and she knew that her brother's best friend was no loving parent, unless he would father Mireille Bouquet's children? Oh well. It wouldn't matter once Les Fleurs de Mort were established in full. They were to make the cause of La Famille D'Ammoure their first and foremost duty. Any relationships were far behind the cause in priority.

With a heavy sigh, she looked up into the blackness that would eventually end in a vaulted stone ceiling. Antonio would have loved this place, with all its nostalgic beauty and the gardens that she had recently taken to caring for. Just as she was about to get up and go water her new flowers, Antonio walked up to her, staggering a little with fresh injuries. It was nothing major this time, but she still hated to see him getting hurt so often. "Antonio," she said fondly, standing up slowly. Tears still streaked down her cheeks: tears of loss, of renewed joy, and of an unfathomable anger at the person who had done all of this to them. "You're back Antonio. But how did you injure yourself so? I thought you had some claim to expertise, my brother." She said this lightly, and she didn't really mean it. Antonio laughed at her jovially and sat down with his back to the wall.

"Why have you been hiding, my dear sister?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded. "I thought that you once said that nothing could frighten the great Livia Ammoure. And here you are, hiding in a castle as if you're in a prison cell." Livia nodded and sank back to a sitting position. Rain started pouring down on them through the paneless windows, and she looked at her brother, his face drawn, and his beautiful dark curls plastered to his forehead with sweat and water combined. Streaks of rainwater ran down his face, mixing with the tears that had started to fall.

"Mieuret is attracted to Mireille," he said coolly. "This was never in our plans, Livia. When I hired him, I thought he didn't have the heart to love a woman like that. Now, what do we do? My Mireille has been taken by a friend, and I command myself daily, with all my power, not to feel jealous, not to kill my own friend because he gave her the love and concern that befitted her needs all along. Livia, I have little left, and the curtain on this insane performance must close soon. If I have nothing, then I will have no regrets when I die at her own hands." Livia gasped at his insane proposal and looked at him with fear in her liquid, honey-brown eyes.

"You cannot die, Antonio," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I have little left to live for Antonio, aside from les fleurs de mort, but you give me comfort. Don't go yet. I'm not ready to be alone." She pressed herself against him and cried furiously into his chest. How could he do this to her when they had looked out for each other for so many years? And now all of it was to end in death?

Antonio stood, and his sister stood with him, holding on for as long as she could, until he stooped low and gave her the French kiss. "You will never be alone," he said. "My spirit will be with you after my death, for death is never the end. It is just a beginning to a life in paradise." His head was raised upward, and rain mixed with the tears that flowed down his face. "I know that you have the heart to live on without me Livia, you just have to search for it. Besides, I have to apologize to Mireille before I can leave this world. There is no place left for me on this stage, and I must make my place in the audience." Livia cried into his chest, feeling his strong arms wrapped around her, in a final embrace. The next time she would see him in real life, he would be so cold, and she wanted to feel him now, while his warmth flowed into her like an endless river of life. To think that that river of life would soon be drained saddened her further, and she knew that without Antonio by her side, she could not complete the task that she was obligated to. It would be a waste of her life if he wasn't there to support and cherish her, to make her feel wanted.

"And so all of us must step down from this minute stage," she said, giving him one last squeeze. "If only it weren't so soon." Antonio walked away calmly, his face colder than she had ever seen it, and his dark eyes sunken from a lack of sleep. His body looked older than ever, and he smiled at her weakly. Those past weeks that he had aided her in achieving her goal, Antonio had been tested through so much, and he was physically tired, sick of being beat on just so that they could attain some far off family goal. "Fine!" Livia shouted in fiegned anger. "If you want to leave your entire family behind in order to apologize to a murderer, then that's entirely your problem! I'll live without you, and I won't give up like you did! If you're watching, Antonio, then you'll see! I'll live and I'll be the most powerful ruler that House Ammoure has ever had!" Antonio cried as he turned around and gazed at his sister's tear-stained face with eyes as cold as ice.

"You can't let go because you don't understand!" he shouted. "There are more important things than worldly positions, material possessions, none of those mean anything once you've lived life and experienced the greater joy. Sometimes all that people need is forgiveness, and it can save them, bring them back from the insanity that causes them to become murderers. Livia, once you can see that for yourself, I think that you'll be able to accept my decision more readily." When he turned around for the second time, he summoned all the strength within his being and walked outside to his car, driving away toward Paris. If he was going to leave this world, he had to close up the wounds of the past, and make sure that nobody would miss him, that all who had come to love him, and care for him would be able to accept the death of one of the best comrades they had ever come to know.


	9. LongGone Relationships

Maiah and Jean sat outside the apartment and looked out at the same moon that Antonio had gazed at while he drove away. Rain had soaked both of them, inside and out. Jean sighed as he remembered the look of horror on Mireille's face as she had told the cops about the brawl that he had started. It had frightened him to see her looking that sad. Where was that light that he had told her about, the one that he had said would always return, even if it left for a time. When was his light going to return? Would it ever return to him, or would he be left to wallow pitifully in the shadows of his own mind?

"I don't think that we'll work out anymore," Maiah said all of a sudden. "You're so wrapped up in your own thoughts lately, Jean, and I'm over being jealous. Go back to Mirielle and explain or stay here, it's your choice, but last night I figured that we're better off as friends. She needs you now more than I ever will, Jean, so maybe you should go to her. You can't hide forever, and if anyone is going to strike at Mireille, they're going to do it now, while she's still hurting." The truth hit hard, and Jean knew that Maiah was speaking from her deeply affectionate heart.

"I'll go," he said finally, "and Mireille will have someone to lean on."

As he drove away in Maiah's car, Jean smiled at the thought of seeing Mireille again. Her melodious voice might have been soiled by bitterness, though. If so, he wanted to start anew, without the guilt of the past on his shoulders. Thoughts flew around in his mind that had become so reflective as of late. He wished to feel her body pressed against his once again, to hear her telling him of the hopes and fears that had filled her heart, the one that she couldn't show to Kirika, the one that only Jean had seen. Suddenly, he stopped when he saw a young woman standing in front of the old Renault.

Getting out of the older car, he looked the girl up and down. She was dressed in an outfit of solid black, and her vividly red hair hung down her back in a long, thick plait. "What are you here for?" he asked, recognizing her from the attack. "If you have anything worthwhile to say, then say it now, while I'm still listening." She smiled at Jean's courage and stepped closer to him, laying a comforting hand on his tensed shoulder.

"I followed Altena in her days of life," she said. "And I came to tell you that Antonio plans to offer himself as a lamb on the altar, a lamb that will atone for the sins of House Ammoure. But you....you cannot be with Mireille, my friend. Her poor heart is clouded with bitterness, and you must let her live through this on her own."

"Why?" Jean asked, his temper rising. "Mireille needs my help, and my negligence would only tear us apart."

"She is a flower of death," the redhead said solemnly, "one that is meant to be with friends yet always alone. Only her one friend, the other half of Noir, can possibly offer her any real comfort. Leave her, Jean Mieuret, and you can move on with your life. Unless, of course, you prefer the alternative? As you've always known, I am the angel of death that came to you in your dreams. If you leave, then I will allow you to keep your life. I know you, Jean, and I know your lust, but it will take you....nowhere..." Jean growled as she fell dead, dead from his own bullet. No angel of death was to tell him to stay away from Mireille when she needed him most. Yet he picked up the body and laid it in the trunk of his car, so that he could give the girl a proper burial.

He drove on, knowing in his heart that Mireille would be happy to see him, happy to see a friendly face returning to an old acquaintance. Everything became more joyful as he slowly came closer to the small Parisian apartment. There he would find the solace necessary to restore his shattered life to what it once was, and it was there that he intended to live out the rest of his life. If that didn't work out, well, he'd go from there, but that was his original plan. Maiah would be a valuable friend, but somehow he felt that Mireille would be a wonderful wife, the one person who would begin to heal the scars of his past, from both the old and the recent.

Finally, he reached the apartment building and heaved a sigh as he climbed out of Maiah's Renault. The entire place looked deserted, and the rain gave the already cold air a frigid chill. In little more than seconds, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and he was soaked to his skin. It was as if the rain of his bitter past was trying to drag him down, down, down into the pits of Hell where he seemed to belong. But he continued on and eventually knocked on the door to Mireille's apartment. "Come in," called a remorseful voice, one that could barely be heard above the patter of raindrops sounding from an opened door. Disregarding it, he turned the knob and walked in to see Mireille, her face stained from recently-shed tears, her eyes sunken from a lack of sleep. When he walked in, she drew a gun out from under the pool table, rage flaring up in every part of her entire being. "What do you want from me?" she asked furiously, stepping forward a couple paces.

Jean threw up his hands in desperation, stepping back as she came forward. "I only wanted to come back, Mireille," he said helplessly, looking around the room. Even if she did shoot him, he knew that he deserved it, and would have no regrets. "All I wanted to say to you is that I'm sorry. I know that I was out of line at the cafe, and I won't even try to make excuses for what I did. Just listen to me this one last time if you're planning on pulling that trigger. I love you, Mireille, and I never loved anyone like I love you now. Just forgive me for that one sin of hurting you. Rather than leave my spirit restless, just find it in your heart to forgive one sin of mine." She stood there, shocked at his speech. Before, she had been angry because of his brutal display at the cafe, and she had been scared of him becoming a maniac. But now...now she felt a new trust rising in her heart. It was that same trust that she had felt for him before, the trust that had driven her to open up to him.


	10. Forgiveness

Kirika watched Mireille, who was pointing her gun at Jean, that man that she had been seeing lately. Why would her friend be so angry with him when she didn't even know any of his reasons for starting that brawl. "Please, Mireille," she said, raising her voice above its usual whispered tone. "Just stop it. Love may be able to kill people, but hatred can never save them, so forgive and forget." Her voice faded as she spoke, until it was barely audible. Seeing those two fighting was so sad, and she knew that Mireille would be furious with herself afterward for killing Jean.

Turning around to face Kirika, Mireille scowled and pulled the trigger, hoping that the bullet would fly true. Jean ducked and came closer to her, his placid eyes begging forgiveness, begging for all of this chaos to end. Why couldn't they just make up and work things out again? Kirika grew somewhat frustrated as she sat there, watching Mireille stare him down icily, refusing to move an inch. "You had your chance not to do what you did, Jean," the blonde said fiercely, ignoring the lonely tear that streaked down her pale face. "You had a chance to redeem yourself by walking away from him instead of causing the same pain that you said would always haunt you. If you really meant that, then you would have felt some sympathy for all of the people who had to watch that vile display!" Jean backed down and drew his own gun, feeling the cold steel against his still wet hand, wishing that he could find a way to end this nightmare.

"I know that I hurt you, Mireille," he said apologetically, "but I wasn't the same person when I started to talk to Jacques, and he was the cause, not some innocent victim!" His face screamed for forgiveness, but he was still, knowing that the bullet awaited him if he moved too far.

"You know that I don't like people who make excuses for themselves," Mireille replied frigidly. "It only tells me that you're too weak to admit the truth." Kirika ran forward as her friend pulled the trigger and pushed the gun so that it missed its target and the bullet flew off into the ceiling. Jean looked at her deadly eyes and backed down, knowing that look all too well from his years as an assassin. It was the look of a hunter who had cornered its prey. Dashing instinctively through the open door, he went low to avoid getting shot as he sprinted down the hall.

Mireille followed with ease, since she knew those halls better than he did. Eventually, she found him and shot, grazing the side of his cheek. "Stop," he hissed, "don't you realize what you're doing, Mireille?" With a snarl, she stepped closer and closer, refusing to put down her weapon. Then she saw the pleading look on his face, the drawn look of his complexion, and the sunkenness of his dark, placid eyes. What had he gone through to return to her? Well, most likely he had broken out of prison and spent many restless nights thinking about her, wondering if she would forgive, and if the Ammoure family had gotten her yet. All of that to come back to her for forgiveness, and what had she given him so far? Nothing but pain. Pain and the relentless chase of a bloodthirsty killer. Dropping her weapon on the floor, she stepped forward and waited for Jean to respond.

He wrapped her in a firm embrace, letting her bury herself in his cold wetness, feeling her warmth against his chill. "You're so cold," she muttered, pressing a hand to his chest and feeling his heart beating slowly. "You've been out in the rain, haven't you?" Jean nodded and held her, welcoming a source of warmth. They stood there for a while, until Mireille found that she was wet all over, and colder than before. Kirika smiled as they all walked back to the apartment silently. Once there, they saw that the door was wide open, and somebody stood on the welcome mat.

"Mieuret!" a suave voice exclaimed as Antonio ran forward to greet his friend. "You are alright, non?" Jean smiled at his old friend, but all of a sudden, Mireille stepped up to Antonio, who was a full head taller than her.

"Why are you here?" she asked. "It's late, and somehow I doubt that you came simply to exchange pleasantries with Jean." Antonio nodded slowly and offered a hand out to Mireille.

"I sincerely apologize for what pressure I have put upon you, my beautiful Mireille. You see, my sister has had rather a change of heart, and I have decided that my death should be at your hands, if anyone's. All I wanted to do was apologize. I know that you killed my mother, but sometimes, forgiveness is all it takes." Mireille nodded, but was unsure what to do. If he was human enough to atone for his sins, then what reason did she have to kill him?

"Why do you wish for your own death? I thought that you were devoted to your sister's cause." Antonio smiled and sank back against the wall.

"I can't do it anymore," he said. "Livia's cause was admirable, but she went too far. What is this power worth, and what would she do with it? In the past time, ever since I met you, Mireille, I've been hospitalized for a sufficient time for profuse bleeding and done a jailbreak in the middle of the night."

Mireille nodded and dropped her hand to her side. If what he said was true, then she wouldn't kill him. He wanted to die so that the history of his family could be wiped clean, but he didn't realize that his cause wasn't worth it; it wasn't worth it for him to offer up his life like that. "Antonio," she whispered softly. "If what you say is true, I can't kill you for such reasons. Livia still wishes for me to come to her, correct?" Antonio nodded, his haggardness sinking in. His dark curls were unkept and his eyes had the same sunkenness to them as Jean's. "Then I will come to her, and end this ordeal. If luck still rests with Noir, then I will return alive. Antonio, I would have killed you if you had not mentioned your ordeals. I am afraid that you are far too honorable a man to be killed by a reluctant bullet."

"Livia is in hiding," Antonio said quietly, growing more and more tired by the hour. "I will take you there, Mireille, and all who wish to assist may come. My sister will not expect aid. So, when shall we depart?" Mireille looked and him and regretted her decision.

"What must be done must be done," she said. "We leave immediately. Kirika, you're coming along for the ride. Unless you're backing out on me?" Kirika shook her head quietly and shrugged. Both were still dressed and ready to go. Antonio smiled as he thought of the time when he would be graced with the freedom of death. Mireille now thought of him as honorable, not the lovesick fool who had tried to persuade her on the bridge. Who else would be left to mourn his death if his own sister ended up killing him? Now it was time for them to end the final act of this insane display of theatrics that Livia had contrived. Maybe he hadn't failed completely in winning Mireille over. Maybe she would choose to return to her former lifestyle through him.

"And yet we are both caught in a puzzling enigma, Mieuret," he whispered haggardly. He staggered from fatigue as he walked out to his car. Jean was coming too, of course. He had been deceived by Livia, and craved to see revenge exacted on her.

"What do you mean," Jean asked quietly.

"We have both been deceived by Livia, and both of us sought solace through the same person. You can have her, Mieuret, as long as we go, euh, sixty-forty?"

"Sounds good, mon ami," Jean said with a short laugh as they walked out to finish what had been started long ago.


	11. Le Fin de Les Fleurs de Mort

Jean rode in the front seat of Antonio's sport car, wishing that he hadn't just left Maiah's car out in the open. Thieves could get to it, since he had left the doors unlocked. "It's been a long time," Antonio said abruptly.

"Hm?" Jean didn't understand. "A long time since what?"

"Since all of this began," his friend replied shortly. "We enlisted to help with this project four years ago, Mieuret. Remember? My sister drew you into all of this, and we formed a joint project, with us as the core. What now? What if she draws us in again?" Jean smiled and didn't reply. It was late, and he knew that if they were diverted from their task, then anything could happen. And the thought of being with Mireille after this gave his life a new hope, as if he could now pick up and go on with the life he had once decided to leave behind.

"Why did you join our little Axis, Mieuret?" Antonio asked. "I wouldn't expect such a gentleman like you to try and get in with the crime lords like my sister. It just seemed strange that you even joined up, and stranger yet that you stayed with us for so long. Not to say that I don't appreciate the help." Jean grimaced and looked ahead, seeing the beautiful coastal house that he had been to so many times. Back then Livia had been his employer, not the enemy of those whom he cared for. Now, he was prepared to squash what little resistance she had left.

"I don't even remember the reasoning behind that decision anymore," he said, "but now I regret it with all of my being. If ever there was a chance for me to atone, this is it." He looked to the back, where Mireille sat silently, her complexion burning with rage as she awaited the chance to end this ordeal, this second trial.

"Don't worry about me," she said harshly, and loaded her gun, making sure that the extra cartridges were where they should be. Antonio's car rode smoothly toward the house, and the closer they got, the more the four of them wanted revenge. Livia had caused them all a great amount of trouble, and it was due time that she paid for it.

Suddenly, the car stopped and Antonio slumped down in his seat, feeling weariness sink in entirely. Jean nodded to his friend, motioning for him to watch over the car. Mireille and Kirika crept out like silent shadows, their weapons concealed. "It is time for Les Fleurs de Mort to be disbanded," Mireille said softly, "permanently." Kirika nodded and took a deep breath, drawing her gun. Livia would know that their intentions were hostile, so what was the point of a surprise? They walked into the glorious mansion, ignoring the shadows that danced about them. When inside, all three went in different directions, but Kirika left, returning to the car to wake Antonio. "Come," she said. "If you want to help Mireille, please, come with me." Antonio looked up to see those gentle brown eyes looking down at him, and smiled.

"I see," he said, and got out of the car, following her back into the house.

Mireille ran swiftly across the soft carpets, thankful for the fact that they muffled the sound of her footsteps. Next to her was Jean, keeping up easily with his long-legged stride. Soon enough, they reached a sitting room, and there was that face, the image of utter perfection, sitting in a red velvet chair, a glass of dark wine in her dainty hand. "Ah," she said with a seductive smile, "Jean Mieuret. I thought you'd never come." She rose, the narrow dress she wore proving no hindrance. Her dark hair flowed freely down her shoulders, and her honey-brown eyes were beautiful but dangerous as they studied Mireille. "And you have brought the third, the Daughter of Corsica." Her slender hand wrapped deftly around a thin dagger, drawing it to reveal a cold, curved blade.

"And what do you plan to do with that toy, you bitch!" Mireille screamed, drawing her gun so that it pointed at that sinuously beautiful figure. Livia raised an eyebrow at the insult and laughed musically, her smile coming across as easy and relaxed.

"It is only a symbol," she said softly, "a symbol of the fact that I have accepted my position in Les Fleurs de Mort, but every ruler needs a right hand, and I thought that you, as part of Noir, would be a very fitting one indeed." Mireille cocked her gun, but before she could pull the trigger, Livia had ducked and rushed at her with that dagger.

Jumping to the side, Mireille muttered another oath and fired, hearing the bullet hit the wall. Where was Kirika when she was needed? Somehow, that girl was able to hit anything from anywhere. Firing off one more shot, she hopped backwards and grabbed Livia's wrist, kicking that frail stomach with her boot. Livia flew backward, but recovered without a drop of blood on her. "I," she said venomously, "have had cause to continue my trade, unlike you." And then Mireille saw that dagger raised above a slender shoulder, and she fired another shot, which missed. Jean stayed back; he knew that this was Mireille's fight, and hers alone, and that he didn't need to intervene, not yet.

Kirika ran, following Antonio through the twisted halls of la Maison D'Ammoure. Finally, they came to one of the darker rooms that had been placed in a lower level. A warm fire blazed on the hearth as two guards taking their break chatted lazily. With a grin, Antonio crept up behind one until his arms were secure around the man's neck. Jerking upward, he heard the crack of a broken neck. He took off the dead man's coat and stuck part of it in the fire, waiting until it caught. Kirika had already shot the remaining guard, and Antonio took the coat and threw it on the ground, opening a small window. Grabbing Kirika's hand, he dragged her out of the room, trying to find where his sister was.

"You know your way, right?" Kirika asked nervously when they stopped for a short breath.

"Of course I do," Antonio replied and stood tall, looking down the hallway. "And we have to get to the main parlor before Mireille is killed." They took off again, and kept on running until they found two great oak doors. Antonio tried at the knob furiously, but it wouldn't give. "Now, try taking a couple shots at those hinges," he said, an idea coming to him. "They're old, so they shouldn't be too difficult to break." Kirika nodded and fired at all three, hoping that it would work. The only visible damage was what looked like large dents. Antonio nodded at her and ran into the door, feeling it give as it hit his shoulder.

Once inside, Antonio was horrified to see the two battling it out, both giving it their all. His eyes were wide as he watched them both, Mireille with her gun and Livia with her dagger. Blood was visible on both, and he could see more appearing as they continued to fight. If his plan ever came to fruition, this would not work in their favor. "Mieuret!" he shouted, running over to his friend. "How long can you distract Livia for?" He looked over at the two women, noticing that they were too absorbed in their battle to notice himself or Mieuret.

"I think about ten minutes," Jean replied quietly. "Why?" Antonio looked back to his tired friend and grinned.

"Just a plan to end this. But you'll have to help me so that I can get Kirika out of here while you take Mireille. If you see us, just keep on going. If myself and Kirika are injured, then we can't afford to lose everyone."

Jean looked into Antonio's eyes and saw an older man, one scarred by the battles he had seen and the nightmarish life he had once led. Was this the same man who had inspired him to get to the inside of La Famille D'Ammoure despite his bourgeois heritage? Of course, as he showed pride and knowledge of the world and its ways. It was why he had joined the little axis, and now it crumbled about him while he stood, a successful man with a woman who valued him. He had cause to live, and cause to help Antonio by distracting Livia. If it forced Antonio to betray his sister, his reasoning must have been very powerful. "I will help you, Antonio," he said, "and best of luck to you." With one final nod, Antonio went back out of the room, and heard Kirika's footsteps accompanied by the sound of a roaring flame. Yes, it would be long enough for them to escape.


	12. Fruition

Kirika ran through the halls, carrying the plan that Antonio had asked her to help with. Twenty yards behind her lay a piece of wood, already blackened by the furiously burning flames. What was to become of her once the fire spread as Antonio had described it? He had said that it would rage with Mireille's fury toward Livia, devouring everything in its path. Yet would she be able to escape from a strange house on her own? Most likely not. Tonight she would be able to atone for her sins.

Suddenly, she raised her head to see Antonio running toward her. "Come with me," he shouted above the roar of the fire, and his voice was more mature, more reassuring. "We have to leave before the fire devours us." She looked at him for a moment, dumbfounded and confused, her deep brown eyes innocent as those of a newborn child.

"Where are Mireille and Jean?" she asked, worried for her friend.

"Dans une chambre a la bas," Antonio replied, and took her hand, dragging her behind him as she attempted to keep up with his long stride. "We have to leave here now, though, so that we can get back to the lounge in time."

Kirika decided that it would be best simply to follow the plan that he had told her before and go along with the amendments he had made. After all, Antonio was the only one of the four who had entered who actually knew their way around this tortuous house. With one last look at those raging flames she freed herself from Antonio's grip and ran on her own, ran like a frightened animal. Behind her she could hear the sound of Antonio's even breath as he shouted directions to her over the approaching roar of the flames. Suddenly, they burst back into the room where Mireille and Livia were still fighting. Kirika panted, almost gasping for breath as she looked up to see the two fighting furiously, each movement graceful as neither was able to aim with their weapons. Finally, she located Jean, who was crouched underneath a squat table, his head bowed so that he could fit under it. With a smile aimed at both Kirika and Antonio, he leaped all of a sudden, and grasped Livia's wrist.

Startled at the fact that someone had managed to catch her off guard, Livia whipped around and her eyes turned harsh when they fell on Jean. "Jean Mieuret?" she said, surprised and offended at the same time.

"But of course, mademoiselle," Jean said, "I only wished to come back and finish what has caused me this deep pain. If the spider's web becomes too intricate, then it is possible that it will get caught. Admit it, Livia, admit your imminent defeat." Livia's dagger fell and Jean dodged, unflinching. Antonio motioned to him and he shook his head, dashing over to attend to Mireille. Her hair was darkened in spots where blood had gotten on her, and he could see where the dagger had fallen on her, almost cutting deep enough into her neck to become fatal, but she could be saved. Antonio and Kirika were occupying Livia, trying to let him escape with Mireille.

Understanding what Antonio wished of him, Jean picked up Mireille and went as fast as he could towards the exit, where he knew the car still waited. Turning down one of the long hallways, he stopped in shock as he saw a violent fire blazing toward them, feeding on the thick, rich carpets. The heat made the hairs on his neck stand on end, and he felt sweat drizzling down his forehead. How much longer would he have to stand this in order to at least save Mireille? With the cuts that had been made on her body, she was exposed enough that her blood might become too hot, and start to evaporate. With a heavy sigh, he dashed out toward the door as fast as he could, cursing the fact that she could not run on her own in this condition. It would have soothed his nerves to know that she was well enough to stand on her own.

Before he could turn the next corner, he saw two men appear from behind, only to be engulfed by the flames. "Hold on Mireille," he said softly, but could not spare a moment to look down at her, to distract himself from the task at hand. His hand flew to where his gun was secreted underneath his jacket. With a couple well-aimed shots, he took down the two guards who came from the front. His breathing became heavier as he went on, knowing that the door had to be somewhere close, it just had to be. Finally, he came to it, and had to put Mireille down to undo the four locks that were there. Three of them opened easily, but the fourth he had to pick. Taking out a thin metal wire, he worked at it for what seemed like hours, until he heard the lock click and the door opened.

They weren't safe yet, though. The oxygen coming in through the door would surely increase the rapidity with which the fire was spreading. Heaving Mireille back into his arms, he walked out the door, too tired to run. Once outside, he went around the back to their private beach and set her down in the soft sand, collapsing in on himself. His mind would have drifted off to sleep but for troubled thoughts about Antonio. Had he chosen to share his sister's fate? And where was the Yuumura girl?


End file.
